


Clung

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Light Angst, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-03-05 08:55:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13384419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: They stop at a motel, and Ignis still follows Noctis.





	Clung

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “Noctis always managed to pull Ignis into his bed to cuddle with when they were kids and it became a habit that stuck as they grew up. Even now as adults, they still cuddle up in the same bed” prompt on [the FFXV kinkmeme](https://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/4398.html?thread=7492142#cmt7492142).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

It’s been too long since they had proper _beds_ , as Prompto loudly bemoans, but finally, at a rickety little outpost in the virtual middle of nowhere, Noctis beelines for a motel. Ignis falls into step, Prompto running ahead and Gladiolus meandering behind. The building is small, battered, and the neon sign flickers in and out of broken use. It’s _nothing_ compared to the splendor of the palace, the large, grand bedroom Noctis used to own and Ignis often visited, but it’s better than what they’re used to now. Neither Ignis nor Gladiolus ever complains about it. Ignis has lost more in that regard than the others have, but he says nothing of that either.

He steps ahead of Noctis when they reach the proprietor—a little old man that looks as wizened as his business. He smiles kindly at them, and Ignis fishes out his wallet, ordering up, “One room, please, with four beds—”

“Three,” Noctis corrects. Ignis merely lifts an eyebrow. Gladiolus is still out of earshot, and Prompto opens his mouth, then flushes pink and quickly shuts it. They’ve all been around long enough to guess what’s going on. 

Ignis privately thought it would putter out, given the nature of their quest and their growing ages. It isn’t like when they were children. But Noctis is the one that hands over the cash, and when the man points them in the right direction, the rest all follow Noctis’ lead.

The room their key opens is expectedly small, and it looks like it _should_ have only two beds, but a third was jammed in for an excuse to up the price. As soon as they’re inside, Prompto’s flittering over to the one at the far wall, and with an exaggerated, “ _Finally!_ ” he plops down face-first. He barely bounces after—the springs are clearly worn down, the mattress crumpled and frail. But it should be better than the hard earth. Gladiolus shakes his head and trails off to check out the attached washroom, likely getting first in line for a chance at a hot shower.

Ignis would like that. Bathing in a cool river just isn’t the same. But his first duty is to his prince, and he feels Noctis’ soft fingers trailing over his left glove.

Noctis slips his palm over Ignis’, interlocks their fingers, and tugs Ignis towards the bed across from Prompto. The blanket and pillow are an ugly mustered colour, the walls a faded purple. It doesn’t earn a smile out of Noctis, but nowadays, few things do. A lot of things have changed.

And some things never seem to. Noctis kicks out of his boots and unfastens his belt without a word to Ignis. The request—or order—or temptation—or whatever it is—is silent but palpable. Ignis sheds his own boots, belt, gloves, and finally glasses, setting them aside on a tiny nightstand wedged into the corner. Noctis climbs into bed first. He squirms beneath the kicked-tight covers to stretch out, handsome face nuzzling into the pillow for the perfect fit, attractive figure eventually settling somewhere near the middle. Ignis spares one look for the last spare bed behind him. 

He and Gladiolus could share. They could stay tight against either side, trying vainly not to touch despite the thinness of the mattress and the broadness of Gladiolus’ thick muscles. It would probably be better for Noctis. They can’t do this forever.

They shouldn’t even be doing it now, but Noctis murmurs, already sleep-slicked and husky, “Iggy.” It’s whispered quiet, like Noctis used to do, all those years ago, when his little hands would paw for Ignis’ nightshirt, and he wouldn’t sleep until Ignis was cuddled up in his arms like a life-size teddy bear. Ignis has always been too weak.

His feet are already moving, socks plodding along the creaking floor, around the other side of the bed. He can’t deny Noctis, not even when he knows it’s _wrong_ , and not when he already wants so badly to give in. Noctis doesn’t even turn to look at him, just waits and knows that Ignis will come. Like always. Ignis does: he slides beneath the covers and seeks the warmth of Noctis’ familiar form. He wraps his long arms around Noctis’ trim body, his tired legs flattening against the backs of Noctis’ thighs. He cocoons around Noctis’ body like a second blanket. Then Noctis does roll over, his arms finding Ignis in return. He cuddles into Ignis with the ease and comfort of so many years of practice. He tucks his face under Ignis’ chin, his matted hair tickling Ignis’ jaw, and Ignis makes an off-handed mental note to brush it in the morning. Noctis’ breath is hot against his shoulder, his entire body quickly overheating. He doesn’t pull away from it. 

He waits until Noctis’ steady breathing has evened out, muscles going lax with sleep. He knows they’ll have to stop this soon. Maybe their hard road has made it all the more tantalizing—something soft and sweet to hold after a bitter day of fighting—but that’s no excuse. Ignis knows his love for Noctis runs far deeper, and this is too much, too close, to something he can’t have. 

But in the meantime, he holds on to his prince, and he savours what he can.


End file.
